


i will steady your hand

by jynersq



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jynersq/pseuds/jynersq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She finds him like this:</p><p>Head bowed over the sink, arms are braced on the rim. He’s staring at the discarded razor in the basin, and she can see from where she is that his fingers are trembling where they grip the cold edges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i will steady your hand

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Laura (camseydavis) for beta-ing this little drabble!

She’s just passing by the half-open bathroom door, on the way back to her bunk from the kitchen, when she hears the muffled shout, then, lower, a curse. Without a second thought, she comes running in from the hall and into the shower-steamy bathroom.

She finds him like this:

Head bowed over the sink, arms are braced on the rim. He’s staring at the discarded razor in the basin, and she can see from where she is that his fingers are trembling where they grip the cold edges.

 _"Fitz?"_ she asks, troubled. “What’s the matter?”

He lets out a shaky breath. Can’t look her in the eyes. If he said so, aloud, she’d tell him otherwise, as would anyone else, but he is chiefly ashamed that he is still, after so many months, sometimes unable to perform the most basic and personal of tasks.

"Cut myself shaving," he says, shortly. Sure enough, there’s a stripe of red on his cheek when he turns more toward her.

"Oh, no," she says. "Let me see—"

"No, I—" He draws back, involuntarily. "Sorry, s’fine, happens all the time." His jaw twitches in barely-suppressed frustration. Then, like the words are being dragged out of him, like he’s admitting a personal failing— "Hands just won’t cooperate today, for whatever reason."

She eyes him a moment, taking in in her peripherals the way his fingers spasm, every few seconds. Without a word, she reaches across him and turns the faucet, snagging a clean hand-towel from the hanger. She soaks it under the warm water before putting it to his face, free hand at his jaw to hold his head steady.

He sighs, as softly as possible, as she gently wipes away the stray shaving cream, cleans the small cut with soap and water.

Slowly, his fingers uncurl from the rim of the sink, until he’s not so much held up on it, as leaning against it. Her little concentrated breaths warm his neck.

When she’s satisfied with the state of his cut, she lays the hand-towel down. He expects her to go as quickly as she’d come, but she just swaps out the towel for his razor.

She takes his face in her hands again, and his eyes flicker up to her, and then back, and then down, as though he can’t make up his mind where to look.

She drags the razor gently, painstakingly over the still-soaped places, scraping away the faint shadow on his cheeks and jaw.

"Used to do this all the time, for my dad," she says, making for lighter conversation. "He taught me to, when I was small, because I asked."

"That’s sweet," he says, and tries to resist the way his eyes are trying to flicker closed. She always knows just what to do, and he wonders if it’ll ever stop astounding him.

"Yeah. Mum never liked me doing it, though. She was always afraid I’d nick him, even though I never did, of course." She goes over the last triangle of skin, and,

"There we go," she says, decisively, and taps the side of his face. "All done."

"Thank you," he says, hands dangling a bit awkwardly by his sides. She brings a hand to his shoulder, clasping it tightly beneath her fingers.

"Of course," she says, inclining her head so he can read the sincerity on her face for himself.

He reaches up and touches her fingers briefly, with just the very tips of his own, but keeps his eyes on the floor.

"What good’s an engineer without his hands, right?" he mumbles.

She squeezes his shoulder.

"Hey," she says. "Don’t talk that way about yourself. You’re good at plenty of things, but that’s not what makes you valuable."

He groans, very quietly, and tips his head into her shoulder.

"I just want to be better," he says, muffled by the fabric of her sweater.

"Oh, Fitz, I know," she soothes, curling her arms around his shoulders. Settling her head against him. "But you’re progressing in leaps and bounds, you really are! You’re already doing better with your words, you know that."

He sighs, and she feels that resignation all over him. “Doesn’t feel like it. I can’t do anything— Can’t even _shave_ without endangering myself, for God’s sake.”

"Oh, no," she says, rubbing gently at the curls at the nape of his neck, "Listen. Being an engineer is wonderful, but that’s not what makes you valuable." She leans back from him a bit, tipping his chin up to look into his face. "It’s you. It’s _who you are,_ not _what you’re good at,_ that makes you valuable, understand?”

He nods, reluctant, and she can tell he doesn’t _really_ believe her. Not yet, anyway. But she’ll be damned if she’ll stop fighting this battle, if she stops before he is anything but fully convinced of his own worth. For now, though, all she says is,

"Listen." She steps back, just a bit. "Let’s just go get breakfast, all right? Take your mind off of it?"

At that, the edges of his mouth turn up.

"You always know just what to say," he says, honestly, and he doesn’t just mean the suggestion of food. Though, that’s definitely part of it. She laughs, nudges his elbow.

"Well, come on, then," she says. "I’ll find a band-aid for your cheek in the kitchen. Then, breakfast."

(On the way out, she swiftly discards the razor into the trash. She always did like him best with just a hint of scruff, anyway.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, commentary and constructive criticism are very much appreciated, if you can spare the time. ♥ (Sorry that this is kind of short! It's more of a drabble, really, I guess.)


End file.
